


Shadows Of Wings

by lu2stylelala



Series: Avenging Angels [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, Slow Build, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 21:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1527050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lu2stylelala/pseuds/lu2stylelala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A winged Steve Rogers wakes in the present, a hero and an icon. He fights with the Avengers by day and wades through memories at night, trying to reconcile his past with his present. If the two weren't so remarkably different, he may have had an easier time of it. As it stands, he better work things out quickly, or he'll never be ready for when the two collide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wrong Side of The Bed (Try The Wrong Side of An Era)

**Author's Note:**

> Pairings: (Future) Tony Stark (Iron Man) x Steve Rogers (Captain America), (Future) Phil Coulson (Agent) x Clint Barton (Hawkeye), (Future) James "Bucky" Barnes x Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark & Bruce Banner/Science Bros (NonRomantic), James "Bucky Barns & Steve Rogers/ WinterCaptain (NonRomantic)  
> Genre: Fantasy AU, Angst and Fluff, Humor, Sarcasm, Randomness  
> Warning: WingFic!, Frequent Trips to the Department of Backstory, Robots Because the Author Likes Them Damn It, OC Cameos Likely, Largely Marvel MovieVerse AU, Potentially Non-Canon Compliant in Future Chapters  
> Disclaimer: I do not own The Avengers, Captain American, or Iron Man(though I totally claim calling their pairing "IronAmerica" because I mean really) or any of the Characters therein. This in no way is meant to suggest real or "in character" occurrences. This is a fanfiction, I do own the idea writing and claim all blame for actions and mistakes therein.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this "**" indicates a flashback sequence. Flashback sequences or time-skips in flashbacks (the department of backstory) will be separated by a single "*". A return to "current" times is marked by "***". I apologize for any confusion this may cause.

On the days he finds himself wishing for the past, missing the quiet life he had as an artist struggling to make ends meet, Steve usually dreams of _back then_. Sometimes just in flashes, tinged black and white due to recently-watched movies he’s shared with his team… He tends to wake up with a smile after a night of that, amused by the way his brain mimics Hollywood’s impression of “back then” or replicates the actual films he remembers from his time. Other nights it’s like being there again, like being hungry and small and too dumb to back down from someone bigger than him… 

These days, Steve knows things are a little different, even if he can’t tell the dreams that. Knows that when he wakes up, there’s more than enough food in the tower to ensure he’s not hungry. Knows that the serum helped him gain a foot of height along with god knows how much muscle, and he’s more than a match for any of the guys that knocked him down before. Knows that it’s pretty hard to find someone bigger than Captain America, someone that’s also willing to stand against Steve and his team. Most of the time when faced with Steve, proud and unflinching with the Hulk and Thor at his back, they back down pretty fast. 

Pretty much there’s only one that won’t back down, no matter who he faces off with, how often he and Steve fight or how mad Steve may get each time they do. That one person being Anthony –call me Tony- Stark. But Tony’s one of those things furthest from Steve’s mind tonight… Because once again Steve’s being trapped a few decades before Tony was even born, in an alley with his own stubborn pride and a bully that just can’t seem to get it through his head: Steve won’t ever quit.

**

_Sometimes I think you like getting punched._ His best friend’s voice rings in his head as he falls to his knees again, hissing as one wing nearly gets caught between his leg and the ground. The concrete beneath him bites into his hands and abrades the edge of his wings, littered with glass and grit. It tears at the leg of his pants as well, scraping his knee raw as he buckles under a right hook.

For all that he sounds like he’s right there; Bucky’s voice is no more than a memory hidden in a dream. Sgt. James “Bucky” Barnes doesn’t know what it’s like to be sick and thin and rail against the world that’s always set to knock you down. Orphan or not, Bucky’s tall and broad enough to handle himself, confident where Steve is lacking. He’s usually pretty handy in a scrape too, but Steve could make a career out of getting into fights a bit too big for him. Bucky would say its sheer recklessness, or pride, but the truth is Steve’s just _good_ and he can’t stand to let others be anything less than that. 

Truth be told, dream or remembered pain or not, Steve wouldn’t mind seeing Bucky show up right about now. He’s once again in a fight that won’t end well for him, outweighed and out skilled as he is; but he sure as hell won’t lose because he quit. Bucky and Steve had been friends since childhood, as close as brothers though they couldn’t look more different. Sarah Rogers used to laugh to see them together; Bucky all dark brown hair and bold eyes, tall and confidant where Steve was blue-eyed and fair, shorter and thinner but just as stubborn. Bucky is not the type to get beaten in an alley, not since his growth spurt; and Steve isn’t the sort to back down from a fight, no matter how badly it goes for him. They made quite a pair, and Steve’s mother always remarked on it. 

Half the time Bucky saves Steve without comment, throwing the bully aside and stepping into the midst of the fray, wings flared intimidatingly. His body language is a warning all on its own, but when framed by flared wings that flash like blood-edged shadows, people tend to get the message all the quicker. Steve can’t help but admire him, note how his wings spread like a barrier, a line of defense between Steve and the stranger that he’s managed to get on the wrong side of. 

Bucky’s wings are handsome, moderately sized –not like Steve’s, stunted due to poor nutrition- almost glossy and athletically muscled due to exercise and a good diet, even in this harsh time. Steve’s wings are small and a little on the thin side, curled as though they bear the weight of the world. He can’t help but think that they tell the world he knows what it’s like to be hungry, to be sick. Even if he’s not wracked with coughs they telegraph weakness, which just makes him want to fight all the harder. 

The color on Bucky’s wings is what always catches Steve’s attention, sending a spike of envy through him. A steely gray that fades to black on both the wingbacks and underside, except on the flight feathers that glint a bold red. Bucky has a warrior’s wings, solid and strong, shaped like a bird of prey, painted just enough to telegraph that he’s fearless. He’s a good flyer too, has practiced hard his whole life to keep the flight muscles in shape. Bucky’s able to pull off dives and stunts with the best of them, even before he goes off to boot camp in preparation for war.

Perhaps that was part of the reason the military took Bucky, even though he had wings. Soldiers with wings don’t tend to last long, unless they’re good; they present too easy of a target. Bold wing colors are a target too; Steve’s willing to bet the military will make Bucky dye the crimson of his flight feathers to a more manageable black. 

Most people tend to be touchy about altering their patterns, since its common knowledge the best way to attract someone is by flaunting your pattern and presenting your colors to the best of your ability. Because of the restrictions of the military those with wings tend to stay home and take up a regular job that doesn’t require much risk, the alteration of their patterns, or demand much use of their wings. It is because of this Steve thinks so many lose their ability to fly. Those trapped in a boring life and a regular job let their flight muscles atrophy, failing to do more than posturing and common displays with their wings. In the long run they’re no longer capable of flight, the wings simply something ornamental; something that sets them apart from those who don’t have wings.

Bucky’s not that type. He’s bound to pull dives and rolls for hours, long after dedicated soldiers would quit. He’s bound to attract attention to himself, even if his wings are dyed, because without Steve to rescue out of alleys, he’ll be bored out of his mind.

Or so he tells Steve.

*

Steve figures his best friend will be busy enough in the war that he won’t have time for recreational flying, he’s just trying to make Steve feel better about the fact that he can’t go. Bucky knows how much Steve wants to fight, want to stand up to bullies overseas the way he does at home in Brooklyn. Even if it ends badly, Steve wants to fight, because he believes in the cause.

His wings are small enough they don’t present much of a target, much like Steve himself. To his own mind Steve is almost forgettable beside Bucky; his color drab and pattern unremarkable. His wingbacks start out a weak bluish-gray at the top, interrupted with black barring as they darken to black down on his flight feathers, the tips of his secondary feathers and major coverts dipped in white. It’s little more than an arc of pale against the otherwise unimpressive cloudy-sky hues. The underside of his wings are bluish gray and fade to white; in theory they’re decently colored for camouflage in the sky, though Steve rarely has the energy and strength to truly fly. 

He can, but it wears him out. Still, the colors are perfect for a soldier; unimpressive and unassuming. The size of his wingspan is adequate to bear his weight, but unlikely to draw undue attention to him. Still, that’s not what matters to the recruiters. What they notice about Steve Rogers is that he’s young and thin and has more health problems than they can manage to fit on an enlistment form… Instead his appear as an attachment in a file. The doctors look at his file, eye the strange winged kid trying desperately to run off to the war, and tell him they’re doing him a favor as they shake their heads. _’No joining the war effort for you, Rogers.’_

*

In the dream Bucky’s suddenly standing between Steve and the loud-mouthed bully who kept disrespecting the soldiers fighting overseas… The same bully that called Steve outside of the theater to fight when he decided that he wouldn’t let some scrawny artist tell him to be more respectful. Now the bully is the one kissing concrete; with Bucky towering over him, proud in his uniform. As the Steve of the past looks up at his friend, a boldly-colored silhouette against a dream-shadowed gray sky and surrounding brick buildings, he misses his brother fiercely in the present.

***

Steve wakes a little quieter on mornings like this, weighted by years lost behind a nap that spans decades. He goes a few rounds with the heavy-weight bag in the gym before taking his early morning run. Some days –like today- he breaks it long before he’s ready to call it quits, and then he has something to drop in front of Tony’s workshop door before he can start on his run. Sometimes it survives him to hang there for another session.

Today the bag is done far too early, the reinforced Kevlar rupturing to spill sand over the floor like pale blood on a battlefield. Steve makes a noise of disgust and annoyance, ripping it down and hanging a second. He’ll drop the carcass at the door to Tony’s shop later, or maybe just inside so DUM-E can drag it around until the sand leaves golden trails over the white floor. It might inspire Tony to mend it faster, or invent something that’ll stand up to an ill-tempered SuperSoldier. 

Once he’s vented his fury on the second bag, Steve unwinds the wraps on his hands, grabs his water bottle and stalks out of the room. The boxing didn’t work to improve his mood much, so perhaps he’ll go for a run until the endorphins kick in. 

If not, maybe Thor will want to spar after breakfast. He may not have Bucky in the present, but at least he has a friend or two that can help him forget that for a little while.

****


	2. Contradictory By Nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this "**" indicates a flashback sequence. A return to "current" times is marked by "***". I apologize for any confusion this may cause.

**

Tony Stark knows that he’s an asshole, and knows that nearly every magazine on the face of the planet has called him such at _least_ once. Most of the time he even embraces that aspect of the personality, flaunts it, fits it somewhere after _genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist_ and before _part-time superhero, borderline villain_. He gets it; he’s hard to deal with, impossible to be around, and has a tendency to do everything but what he should do or what people need him to do.

He’s no walk in the park, and Pepper has told him that enough that it actually _sunk in_. He is cognizant of the issue, and is even working to correct it… Sort of. Most days? Whatever, there’s some important quote about good intentions that applies to this issue. It’s not important at the moment, but it exists. 

In spite of all that “negative feedback”, Tony’s trying. And it honestly isn’t his intention to pick a fight with Fury’s Golden Boy right out of the gate. It isn’t. He’s almost excited to meet the guy, actually. Imagine, the real Steve Rogers _a.k.a. Captain America_ and Tony gets to meet him. It’s like a dream come true for his inner child. Why the hell would he get in a knock-down, drag-out with a guy he looked up to _most of his life_? Even Tony’s not that emotionally stunted… Or so he would have argued before he actually _met_ Steve Rogers. 

The fact remains, it is not Tony’s intention to totally rile a super solder during their first actual conversation. But for all that it really _isn’t_ planned, it sure as hell _happens_.

It should have gone perfectly, really. Tony had every intention of being a good boy, of casually greeting a guy his father helped turn into the first real super hero –one of Tony’s personal heroes, at least as a child, if he’s being honest- and maybe even starting up a casual sort of friendship. He has every intention of being a team player, just to prove to Fury that he _can_. But Captain America walks in the room, cowl left elsewhere and his wings –big, whole, beautiful wings- half-spread, and Tony’s mouth just _runs off by itself_. 

He lets out a low whistle just to get things started, and makes a show of eying Steve from head to toe. When it seems like the Captain will ignore it, Tony splays his wings slightly too, fanning them open with a flash of feathers that flaunts the bold crimson dominating the belly of the wing. Everything about the gesture says _Look at me, aren't you impressed? You should be, I want you to be._ There’s just the faintest of gold-titanium framework present on the underside of the wing, a glitter of metallic gold against the natural, softer-gold shade of his feathers. With the metal framework on his wings, Tony had to work a little harder than most to posture, but it was worth it to see the blush flare to life on Captain America’s face before he shut down his emotions.

Watching a frigid glare settle on Steve’s face, Tony’s smirk widened his tone gone to a low crooning growl. ”Wow Fury, you sure can pick 'em. I’m betting he’s the lead singer for your band, huh? You always put the cute ones out front; the fangirls like to grab ‘em.”

Nick Fury’s face flickers with an expression born of resignation and disappointment. “Stark, just don’t.”

And that could have been the end of it, nearly was the end of it. Again Tony had every intention of reining it in, of offering an airy apology and a light smile and actually introducing himself… But Steve opens his mouth with: _”Stark. I knew your father, he was a good man.”_ and that is _it_. 

The gloves are off, and Tony Stark is an asshole in every sense of the world, his damaged wings flaring as he draws breath for a retaliation. “Wow, I hope your ability to read people has improved after seventy years on ice, Capsicle, or this little pep squad is in for a rough ride.”

“Stark.” Nick’s tone is warning, but it’s a little late.

Tony’s not a quitter, so why the hell try and stop it once he’s gotten the ball rolling? Maybe he’ll wind the old man up a bit, see what makes him tick, and then soothe Cap’s ruffled red-white-and-blue feathers later. He has every intention (more or less) of making amends –later, sometime, most likely- and resolving the disagreement. Really. Mostly. “Bad enough you’re taking orders from Right Eye, but you think Howard Stark was a good man? Boy, I’m glad I’m just a consultant; I’d be refusing to follow you into battle on the basis of poor observation skills and Fury would have me court-martial-ed before lunch.”

“A record even for you, Stark.” Nick mutters, and dimly Tony wonders if he’s chiming into the conversation at hand or subtly insinuating something along the lines of: _You’ve just alienated a potential team mate in under thirty seconds, and I’m impressed in a way that is wholly unflattering to you._

He never finds out either, because Steve has turned and is walking out of the room again, his big wings tight to his back with tension. Before the door slides closed behind him Tony starts at the pattern, realizing just a moment too late that the wings of the man in front of him are only white and blue, with a hint of grey. There’s no bold scarlet to be seen, and Tony remembers all the prints he had of Captain America. There had definitely been red in his wings.

Before Tony can call him on the deception, or demand an explanation, Steve Rogers is gone. The door hisses closed on his retreating back and Tony’s left standing alone, his gold-titanium and hot-rod red dressed wings half-flared in conflict, but slightly wilting with inaction. Nick leaves him without comment, black wings folded to his back and trench coat hissing his retreat. None of the agents on the bridge look his way, but Tony’s too busy searching his memory to notice.

Somehow, it seems like he messed up.

***

A sleep-fogged Tony Stark dragged himself down the stairs toward his workshop at noon, with what was only his second cup of coffee clutched firmly in hand. His progress was mostly silent; steps light and shuffling, but the soft whisper of natural crimson feathers trailing on tile and the chime of his metal wing augmentations echoed through the hall. For the most part he ignored it all, tired enough that the sound had no effect. The constant ring of metal failed in even inspiring him to fold his wings, still too close to exhaustion to make the effort. If anyone else had been around, they probably would have thought Tony was posturing. Very few people understood that until he had at least a pot of coffee in his system, he just didn’t have the energy to manage the weight of his wings.

Thankfully the hallways of Avengers Tower were unusually quiet, considering there had been no call out for the Avengers; though the elevator had been in use elsewhere indicating at least one of the team was home. This early into his day, Tony didn’t care to wait for the elevator when he could get to his workshop faster on his own two feet. Maybe the walk would help him wake up enough to make a second pot of coffee in the quiet of his lab, one he wouldn’t have to worry about Romanov stealing. 

He was just barely awake enough to make a confused sound when he stopped at the door to his workshop, wings drooping further after a weak twitch of bewilderment. Clearly, this morning it was going to take more than asking JARVIS to open the door. Not one but two of the heavy weight bags –bags Tony designed to withstand the suit, and maybe even a certain Super Soldier- were leaned against the door, hemorrhaging sand like some lethal wound.. 

Clearly, Steve was _pissed_.

Tony’s mouth worked for a moment, waiting for his brain to catch up, and when it came up on empty he poured more coffee into it in an effort to jump-start the thought process. “JARVIS?”

The British tone was cautious when the A.I. responded. “Sir?”

“Status on the Avengers?”

“Agent Romanov and Agent Barton have taken up residence in the home theater, to relax after training earlier this morning. Dr. Banner has put some of his experiments on hold to join them, though he did spend the morning in the labs. Thor appears to be in the kitchen, recently showered after sparring with the Captain.”

Tony waited for a moment, expecting the AI to continue. Silence stretched for a moment before the billionaire cleared his throat, impatiently prompting when JARVIS failed to continue. “And where is the Captain?” 

“As I understand it he was on the balcony for some air, Sir.” JARVIS murmurs at last, reluctant and evasive. 

Tony grunts as he sets aside the empty cup and begins shoving the bags around. Once they’re propped against the wall he takes a minute, eying the path of golden sand scattered down the hall back toward the elevator. Something must have really set the Captain off. “Gimme playback for the Gym, the elevator, Steve’s suite and then connect the dots on that.”

“For how long, Sir?” JARVIS murmurs as Tony shoves the door open and begins dragging the bags inside. 

Tony grunts as he tosses one aside and then gathers up the second, making a note to summon the Roombas so they can clear away the sand in his hallway. “When did he wake up?”

JARVIS barely hesitates. “My sensors in the Captain’s suite indicate he awoke shortly before five a.m., Sir.”

“Start there, then…” Tony growls, giving one bag a nudge with his foot and ignoring the door as it closes automatically behind him. “Give me everything in the house until he dropped the bags at my door.” 

JARVIS’s tone is almost approving. “Sir.” 

Tony frowns as he watches the feed skid by on four different projection screens, waiting for JARVIS to queue up the hours between Steve waking up, destroying two Iron Man tested punching bags, and going out for his morning run. Most of the time he lets things in the tower pass without comment, but JARVIS was unusually tense when Tony asked for the whereabouts of the team. It wasn’t like the A.I. to be evasive, not when he preferred to respond with dry wit and sarcasm. To be fair, Tony’s question wasn’t entirely unprompted; Steve’s deposit of the heavyweight bags at his door certainly helped, and ensured that JARVIS’s tension wasn’t Tony’s only tip-off that something was wrong.

“The feeds are ready, Sir.” JARVIS murmurs politely, prompting Tony to down the last of his coffee as he shakes himself back to the present.

“Dazzle me, J, an start up some coffee?”

“It began brewing when you entered, Sir, and should be ready shortly.”

“If you had a body I’d marry you.”

“I’m most flattered, Sir.” 

“I bet you are, now stop stalling and play the damn tapes.”

****


	3. History Is (Not) Always Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this "**" indicates a flashback sequence. Flashback sequences or time-skips in flashbacks (the department of backstory) will be separated by a single "*". A return to "current" times is marked by "***". I apologize for any confusion this may cause.

Tony knows enough of Captain America to know something is _wrong_ after the first meeting. Can tell, just by looking at the Captain’s retreating back, that something is missing. He had the trading cards, and the posters, and had seen all the old reels. Even in the grainy black-and-white video of Captain America behind the scenes, with Howard in the lab or sprawled under his motorcycle in a garage, there had been a hint of shading to his wings; evidence of red in his feathers. A red that was notably absent as Rogers stalks away from Tony’s mouth.

That just wasn’t right. While Tony didn’t have many good memories of his old man, a fair few of them involved listening to Howard talk about Captain America. Tony remembers hiding in his father’s office, tucked into a corner cabinet to spy on his dad at work… Wide-eyed as he listened to Howard discussing the retrieval searches, unsuccessful but ongoing; and he realized that his father was searching for Captain America. So he stayed hidden, picking up every clue he could because his father had known _Cap_ , had worked with Tony’s _hero_.

_“When you find him, Davis, you’ll know it’s him. Yeah, Cap’s got real wings. I know all about that discrediting bullshit, but they’re the real thing. Big too. Red, white and blue. Can’t even imagine what he looked like when he dropped out of the sky and into the middle of that P.O.W. camp… What do you mean? Of course he’s out there!”_

So why in the hell did this guy only have white and blue wings?

Not that there was anything wrong with Steve Rogers wings, don’t get him wrong. In fact, Tony found there to be _nothing_ wrong with Steve Rogers wings. They were big and beautiful, well-feathered and fit… Each at least as long as the man was tall, which put his wingspan at over twelve feet.

_God. Twelve feet of gorgeously feathered wings and six foot plus of blond hair, blue eyes and all-American muscle all combined into one gorgeous package._

There were days Tony could freely admit to himself that he wanted to bite Steve, and not in a mean way.

**

Sitting in the exam room waiting, wings folded to his back, Steve Rogers is well aware he’s nothing special. He’s an artist with thin wrists and knobby knees and he could stand to grow a foot and bulk up like all the other guys his age have managed to. A young man with unremarkable wings, a washed out bluish-gray color interrupted by dark gray barring on the back. Overall they look a little on the thin side because he knows what it’s like to go hungry. Wings that curl under the weight of the world but flare boldly when Steve goes toe-to-toe with a bully twice his size; which is, ironically enough, a regular occurrence.

He’s all proud chin and stubborn wings as he stands up for what he believes in or stands against someone in the wrong; because someone has to and that someone may as well be Steven Rogers. He never fails to stand up for what he thinks is right, and spends an awful lot of time being beaten into the ground refusing to admit he’s wrong. But he still steps up, still flares his wings and fights, because someone has to.

_Sometimes I think you like getting punched._

He’s young and thin and has more health problems than they can manage to fit on an enlistment form… Instead his appear as an attachment in a file. The doctors look at his file, eye the strange kid trying to run off to the war, and tell him they’re doing him a favor as they shake their heads. _’No joining the war effort for you, Rogers.’_ Ineligible. 

He tries every time he gets a chance, changes where he applies and says he’s from a different town. **4F.** Ineligible.

No one wants a scrawny artist to participate in the war. It doesn’t matter what he wants, what he thinks is right. The answer is always the same.

 **4F.**

Steve stares at the wall and tries to think about everything but why it’s taking the Doc so long to come in… About how one of the nurses could be contacting the authorities to report the scrawny kid who doesn’t seem to understand that no means no. Instead Steve goes over his last conversation with his best friend, even though it ended in an argument. 

**4F.**

Bucky just knows what it’s like to pick Steve up afterwards, to help him brush things off before he dives back into the fight. Sure, he probably gets tired of it, but he never fails to show up and help Steve when he needs it. If only he could help Steve with this. If only he could _understand_ just how badly Steve wanted this.

Instead Bucky warns him he’s going to get caught with the repeated applications, says that he should just relax and deal with being the only eligible guy in New York when all the others ship out. Bucky tries to talk him out of it, tries to tell him how easy it will be to get a date while every other guy is off fighting the war. Steve argues that he’s got just as much right as anyone to fight, to make a difference, and he’s not interested in having a chance with every woman in New York when all he wants is a chance with the right one. 

Bucky grumbles about the fact that Steve’s too stubborn for his own good and Steve snaps that Bucky should know how much he hates bullies, which he does –of course he does- because that’s the third alley he’s pulled Steve out of this month… It’s probably the fifth time Steve’s gotten himself into trouble because he told some bully to be quiet or go play in traffic. This is of course why Steve should be allowed to join in the war effort to fight bullies overseas, because then at least he and Bucky would be getting into trouble together. 

**4F.**

Steve sighs at yet another rejection, his wings tense with the sting of failure as he slinks out of the recruitment office and heads off down the sidewalk, listening to all the sounds of night falling on Brooklyn. A change in wind makes him duck his head, tucking himself into his jacket and folding his wings more tightly to his back, the breeze tugging at blonde hair and light-colored feathers. It’s getting colder, but that could just be in his head. He stifles a cough anyway, too proud to admit to the weakness, or perhaps just too stubborn. His mom would have said both, but she had lost a husband to the war and had no desire to lose her son the same way.

Steve had lost her instead, and now he was faced with losing Bucky. Bucky, who was not about to sit around when there was a war going on, but didn’t have the same urge to fight that Steve did. And Steve did want to fight, wanted to help more than anything because he knew in his heart it was right. His mother always told him heart counted for a lot, but he couldn’t seem to get anyone else to see it. Now he was losing perhaps the only person who did see something in him –something worth _something_ \- because Bucky was going off to war and Steve couldn’t follow.

He sits on a bench and just people-watches for a while, admiring the wing patterns he sees passing by. Wings aren’t so surprising, maybe one in six people have them, but they’re unique. Steve notes patterns like barring on owl wings, the distinct marks of song bird and bird of paradise, the muted tones of hawks and so on. He catalogs the colors and what he can see of the patterns, using them to guess about the people they belong to. Later he’ll draw them in his sketchbooks, make up backstories and families and names. 

There, a blonde woman with soft orange-brown wings, muted like a female cardinal. Steve thinks she might be a waitress or a nurse; she looks like someone that takes care of others for a living. Walking in the opposite direction he spots a man in a suit, and the predatory shape of his wings mark him as a hunter without Steve even having to note the falcon-like pattern. A business man or a lawyer, they’re much the same. He sees a woman with a winged child darting toward a taxi, and the little boy has wings like a barn owl, all white-bellied and golden-brown on the backs. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a soldier, or maybe the war will be over by then.

Steve stands, tension coiled through him and making his simple gray-white wings flare and mantle. He shakes off the impulse and manages some semblance of control, folding them to his back and moving on down the sidewalk. It’s probably best if he catches up with Bucky, he had said something about a date and would be annoyed if Steve was late. Not too annoyed to make the best of having a dame on each arm, but annoyed enough to give Steve hell for it later.

*

Steve can’t help but stare at himself in the mirror. He’s taller, gained muscle and endurance and actually become a super-soldier like Erskine thought he would. But that’s not all that has changed. His wings are different now too, large enough to carry this new body in flight, muscled and finely feathered. The coloring on them has changed slightly, the smokier-gray barring on the wingbacks turning to a deep gray that is almost black, and the gray-blue now glinting almost electric in places, and a strong sky blue everywhere else. Even the white shines like fresh snow, despite in the harsh lighting of the exam room. They’re not ostentatious and they haven’t changed enough that they look like they belong to a stranger, but they’re big and different and beautifully so.

Which is why Steve so adamantly disagrees when Senator Brant’s assistance bursts in and excitedly rambles about “dyeing” some of the feathers a bright red.

Because Captain America’s wings should be just as patriotic as his costume and _oh by the way Steve have you seen your costume yet_?

Steve always wanted to go to war, but he didn’t mean it like _this_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The woman with wings like a female cardinal is a sneak-appearance-OC, belonging to one of my best friends. For the record, she is a nurse. The little boy is a personal OC of mine, simply present as a child.


	4. Video (Killed The Radio Star)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faced with two destroyed (formerly) Iron Man-proof punching bags, Tony scrolls through the Tower-Cams feed and tries to figure out what the hell is going on with Steve.

With an exhausted splay of wings Tony settles more firmly into his chair and frowns as he watches playback on several different monitors, carding through the empty hallways and abandoned living areas. He doesn't blink when DUM-E beeps affectionately at his elbow, simply accepts the full cup of freshly-brewed coffee and gives the robot a distracted pat. DUM-E, for his part, seems largely unfazed... Rolling off to do who-knew-what on the far side of the workshop, beeping and clicking to himself all the while.

Tony can't even bring himself to order the bot about, or to ask JARVIS to keep an eye on things while he continues to scan video feed. At the moment his sole interest lies in Steve, and what he can glean from the 'common room' cameras he has set up to record every moment of the day. If he can't find what he's looking for on the main cams, he'll access the one in Steve's room.

But at the moment it is easier to live with himself if he pretends that one isn't real, so he's more than happy to take things one step at a time. 

So Tony sips at his coffee -inhaling a third of the cup at once- and watches as a hollow-eyed Steve slips out of his bedroom and paces cat-quiet down the hall. Every muscle seems tense, Steve's wings telegraphing his unease as they repetitively flare and mantle. He seems to startle as they touch a wall by accident, the look in his eyes hauled back to the present in a moment. Tony sips at his coffee again and watches the soldier recover, watches Steve take deep, regulating breaths and carefully fold his wings close to him before launching into movement once more. For a moment he outstrips the range of a camera and Tony is treated to a rear-view of tension-tight wings and broad shoulders.

_‘Super-Soldier, indeed.’_

Interestingly enough, Steve avoids the elevator, moving instead to the stairs access of his suite. He disappears from the screen for a moment as JARVIS flicks from camera to camera, reappearing in a narrow steel-boned staircase barely a heartbeat later. The cams in the staircases are closer, and without direction JARVIS zooms in on empty blue eyes and a handsome face that has gone unhealthily pale. Whatever woke Steve still has him in its grip, a tenacious nightmare that won't unwind its claws from his waking mind. So Steve moves with purpose, now vacant-eyed and still tensely wound, seeking the only place he seems to find peace in an era he shouldn't really have lived to see. 

Tony knows without a doubt, Steve's making a bee-line for the gym. Idly he glances to other screens, seeing that JARVIS has already anticipated Steve's entrance to the gym level. There's no one present at the moment, but the lights are dialed up to a more nostalgic golden-toned glow than normal. 

_'Good.'_ Tony thinks, inhaling more coffee has he spins time forward a bit on the feed, watching the empty hallways and stairs be eaten up by a swift-moving soldier intent on reaching his destination quickly and quietly. 

He's dimly aware of U appearing at his elbow with a fresh, steaming cup... but can't quite drag his eyes away from the monitor to confirm it. Instead Tony reaches out blindly, searching fingers grasping the handle on the second try, dragging the cup closer as he intently watches the screens. 

Steve doesn't run through the halls, but it's a fairly near thing. Closer to the gym he starts cutting corners, jumping down a half flight of stairs here; now there catching a corner with his fingertips to sling himself around to the next hall. Tony watches in interest as he seems to gain momentum as he goes, still careful not to run (as though something might chase him). But his wings are once again tense and half-fanned, and the distance is eaten up with long, swift strides or gliding-drops. With the floors between his suite and the gym erased in moments of swift-silent progress, the Steve on camera now moves quickly through the outer exercise ranges, as they hold no interest to him, and goes straight for the innermost boxing ring. 

The camera flickers again as Steve spills into 'his' area of the gym and abruptly flares his wings as the door snaps shut in his wake. In spite of everything, Tony leans closer to the monitor and admires the way the steel blue-grey and midnight dusted feathers glint in the low, golden light. Though the soldier's never said as much, Steve's wing gesture seems possessive and demonstrative all at once. If only for the next few hours, this is his place, his territory. Even in the midst of Tony's building, Steve claims this part as his in gesture if not by saying the words themselves. 

Personally, the billionaire doesn't mind it all that much. In fact, a part of Tony is rather proud of himself for designing a place that Steve seems so fond of. Granted, part of Steve's attachment is (probably) is out of necessity, Tony knows... Steve needs to find some sort of stability in the 'now' or he'd do something regrettable or tragic (like let SHIELD lock him up in a lab or house him in a shoebox apartment). He needs to have a home, and the tower works better than the other options that were open to him. 

Still, Tony likes to think that he can take some credit for how things are smoothing out. Each of the Avengers have their own floor in the tower, but there are certain common areas that cater to all of them. The gym was particularly difficult to handle, with so many different needs to be met. Though he'll deny it to the end of his days, Tony had spent hours agonizing over how best to split things up and create the appropriate atmosphere within a mid-level floor that still overlooked a great deal of the city. 

But no matter how much of a pain it had been, he had eventually created something he was proud of. The structure was reminiscent of a nautilus, with the outer chambers dedicated to yoga space or archery and knife ranges (capitalizing on the view or the natural light) and then winding inward to boxing areas, a wrestling ring, a weight area and treadmills. The centermost room was the smallest, focused within the outline made by structurally-significant pillars. When he had been unable to move them, Tony had capitalized on them instead, and created a smaller work-out room and boxing ring that could structurally withstand having Captain America wrestle a displaced god or the Iron Man armor, depending on the day. 

Well, it had withstood them so far, at any rate. 

Watching Steve pace the area and stretch beneath the low-golden light, Tony admits that going with the classic style 'Edison' bulb and their visible filament seems to have been one of his better choices for the remodel. Between them and the deceptively older-style boxing ring, the supporting walls that make the place seem close and intimate and the smell of leather and sweat, Steve seems to have something close to peace.

At any rate, Tony was aware Steve spent more time in that area than anywhere else in the house, including his own bedroom. _'Good enough.'_

Tony takes a sip of coffee as the first punch flies -idly noting the bare knuckles and a hint of a snarl on Steve's face- and resigns himself to spending hours reviewing the footage. Maybe Steve will talk while he works, maybe Tony will just have to guess based on how he moves and the look in his eyes... But sooner or later, Tony's going to find out what the hell Steve did to rupture two of his 'Iron-Heavy' bags... And then he can work on how to improve the damn things.

_‘I always did like a challenge.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to sincerely apologize for my absence, in part due to the loss of my previous computer (affectionately known as 'Air Canada' because during its last days it sounded like what I imagine a jet engine hitting a moose would sound like). I am now back with a new comp (affectionately known as "Freedom") and am back to writing! While this chapter was a short one, I do hope you enjoyed it... And trust me, more is on the way!
> 
> BTW: The title is a nod to one of my favorite songs, and is just one more piece of evidence of my peculiar brain. I hope it didn't upset anyone. As you can see, no one died.


	5. Of Science Bros (And Lost Causes)

_Earlier that morning…_

As he goes to work on the bag, half-dreaming and shadowed with nightmares, Steve begins to turn over some of the questions that have arisen when faced with the ‘present’. Most of the technology flies over his head, but he’s living in a tower of cutting edge (and even ‘beyond the edge’ technology) with a self-proclaimed futurist. What he doesn’t pick up out of some weird survival instinct will get explained again the next time he needs it, and sooner or later someone will say it in a way that actually makes sense. _Most of the time._

It takes a lot of reading and more than a few marathons (music, movies, news clips and spontaneous history lessons), but he’s getting there. Slowly and in no particular order (his housemates don’t seem to have the attention span or focus to manage that) they try to explain, but it’s rather like some peculiar ‘highlight reel’ that they add to once they realize he may not know what they’re talking about. They go from _‘did you know we landed on the moon?’_ to _‘you haven’t seen Star Wars? You have to see Star Wars!’_ at the drop of a hat. In the beginning he protested, but now it’s just easier to let them tell him or show him whatever they want. He can always ask JARVIS to reconcile it later.

(Steve refuses to dwell on the fact that the Robot Butler of Tony Stark is the one he looks to for continuity or comfort in this mad new life.) 

In fact, for the moment Steve shies away from anything regarding Tony Stark. Mostly because he’s still not sure how to handle the in-your-face action and non-stop charm the billionaire exudes. (It’s exhausting and unsettling all at once, and therefore will do his damn best not to think about it.) 

Instead, checking the wrapping on his hands and then falling back into a basic stance, he turns his mind to the rest of the team. As he lands a new punch –technique textbook perfect- Steve admits he has only recently noticed how Clint was finally beginning to relax. It seemed the archer had finally come to realize that none of them blamed him for his actions while under Loki’s control. Though Clint still took every opportunity to ascend to the highest point in any given room, or restlessly explore (perhaps to seek refuge in) the air ducts, the way he holds his indigo wings tense slowly fades into more relaxed posing. He still bickers and picks at Tony, and still has complex half-spoken conversations with Natasha, but he’s settling in. Whatever his issues are, they don’t involve challenging Steve and so the pair of them get along fine. 

As far as Steve can tell, Natasha decides to relax only when Clint does. It’s interesting to see how tense she is in the tower, considering that she was undercover as Tony’s Personal Assistant for months out in Malibu. But still, it’s only after the tension bleeds out of Clint’s wings and he stops carrying his bow 24/7 that she has come to trust that the rest of the team won’t make any hostile moves against her fellow agent. She still has blades hidden in every room –Steve’s found a few- but she’s no longer bristling with suspicion and weaponry at all hours of the night and day. Now and again he even catches a glimpse of bright scarlet on her flight feathers, her wings relaxed enough to let him discern a little of her pattern. 

Steve knew his interactions with her had changed the moment he accepted Clint on her silent recommendation, a mere nod that he was fit to fly with them when they took off after Coulson’s death. But it’s not until she seems truly sure they’ve accepted the archer –and his peculiar habit of falling asleep in high places with his eyes open- that Steve actually sees her relax enough to smile. The fact that that smile is delivered with a flick of a wingtip and the brush of her flight feather against his arm is what really shocks him, but he accepts it with a faint smile and nod and tries not to overreact. 

Wing-touch isn’t quite as intimate now as it was then… But it’s still a sign of trust and acceptance powerful enough to make Steve’s chest feel tight merely thinking of it. He shakes off the unwelcome echoes of childhood illness, resetting himself and waiting for the feeling to pass. When it seems like it will linger Steve grits his teeth and strikes at the bag again, reluctantly admitting that Bruce still seems nervous. For all that the scientist had come to help them save New York, Steve wonders if it was because of his friendship with Tony, and not really anything more. From what he understands of their current living arrangements, Bruce is the only one who speaks with Tony regularly. For all that there are ten floors in the tower devoted to Stark Industries R&D, Bruce regularly spends time in his personal lab (courtesy of Tony) or Tony’s own workshop. 

The two of them are nearly as constant as Natasha and Clint, and apparently equally protective. On the rare occasions Steve finds himself in a room with Bruce, it’s barely a heartbeat before Tony comes sweeping in with a wide grin and a joyous shout for his ‘ScienceBro’. If he spares Steve a look at all it’s an empty one, but most of the time even that seems like too much of an effort.

Striking the bag again, Steve can’t understand precisely how it went so wrong, so fast between him and Tony. Yes, he admits that most days the smug, lazy playboy exterior rubs him the wrong way. But he’s seen Tony act like a hero. Seen him fly out of nowhere to fight Loki, endanger himself to keep the Helicarrier in the air, save a city and fly a warhead into a portal to far-distant space. He’s seen how the loss of a teammate had hollowed the joyous, wicked light usually present in Tony’s eyes. Noted the rage and defiance spark, not quite quick enough to hide the fear, as Tony turned on him _‘We are **not** soldiers_ ’. He’d been surprised that the same man who said _“Following’s not really my style.”_ Had turned around mid-battle and demanded _“Call it, Captain.”_. 

He’d ruthlessly masked the way that simple phrase had made his heart flip in a way that he was determined to deny and ignore. 

But for all of that, and in spite of the fact that Tony had let them move it, it still seemed like he and the billionaire were physically unable to be in the same room for more than two minutes at a time. Which made no sense at all, because they had been fine eating Shawarma after the fight… Had actually been civil as they said their farewell to Thor and then went their separate ways. And even though Tony invited them all to move in, had given them keys and a whirlwind tour, assured them they were welcome and his home was theirs now too…

Even after all of that, he wouldn’t look at Steve unless they were in the middle of a fight and wouldn’t stay still long enough around Steve for one to get started. 

_‘Damn it Tony, what the hell am I going to do with you?’_

Unbidden, the image of laughing golden-brown eyes and a smug twist of lips flashed through his head, his brain helpfully summoning an image of Tony’s response to such a question. The phrasing made him flush red and strike the bag again, and he bit out a curse when Kevlar ruptured and sand spit everywhere. _‘Not again.’_


	6. Unexpected Friendships & Helicarrier Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a (largely) Avengers-compliant "flashback" Chapter featuring Tony & Bruce being "ScienceBros" on the Helicarrier. Mostly because I really love them, and Steve has gotten way too much attention in this fic so far!

**

For all that it has been ages since he’s completed the project and Tony should be fucking thrilled to finally climb aboard the Helicarrier (note to self, never build something for Fury without knowing _why_ ) and invited to consult with the Team, Tony’s still suspicious of S.H.I.E.L.D. He’s tried to let it go, to just strut around the marvel of engineering ( _Yeah Tony’s a genius, thank you very fucking much_ ) but he can’t. Part of it is the way that Fury presents matters like he’s being completely honest. Sure there’s a chance he is, but Tony has never known a military man or politician to share all. So he sits at the table and listens to everything Fury says, but still has his doubts about the truth of the whole matter. Doubts which only increase as time passes, in part due to the fact that Tony _knows_ Nick is lying. And Nick has lied about several things, so what’s one more? Even something as big as Captain America.

If Fury can lie about Captain America, there’s no end to what else he’s hiding. And Tony just can’t stand the idea of playing the hand Fury has dealt him. Not when there could be so much more at stake. Even if he and Pepper aren’t, well, “he and Pepper” anymore, he won’t let her get hurt because of this life. He won’t let Fury jeopardize everything just because he felt like “the team” (or the Avengers or whatever they were being called now) wasn’t granted clearance high enough to know the truth. Tony hasn’t been the type to ‘sit back and wait’ since Obadiah had played his hand and nearly won. 

Tony doesn’t believe in making the same mistake twice, not when he could make new mistakes in exciting or unusual ways. And so he plants a tap-node on the bridge of the Helicarrier and lets J.A.R.V.I.S. hack the system. Plants a bug in plain sight of two-dozen S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and none of them saw a damn thing. Why? Because Tony’s a genius, that’s why. This baby was his pet project (between suit upgrades) and he knows her like the back of his own hand. Probably always will, even if he did turn her over Nick the Pirate King.

That doesn’t mean Tony’s going to let Fury call the shots. So yeah, he lets himself be invited aboard as a consultant, and he swaggers onto the bridge and makes a crack or two at Nick’s expense… Then he drops a tap-node on one of the monitors, lets J.A.R.V.I.S. get to work, and lets himself be distracted by the opportunity to play with Banner. It’s no trouble, he knows J.A.R.V.I.S. can handle the system, (and it only takes a little bitty tap-node to do the job, because he built this fucking triumph of engineering, of course he left himself a backdoor or seven, Nick). So he lets his A.I. get to it as he and Bruce mull over alien technology and whip up an algorithm to track the Tesseract. 

Surprisingly enough Bruce seems to approve of the plan, smiling faintly as Tony dances around the unique phenomenon of sharing lab-space with another human being. Though Bruce has no wings to keep-close, he hunches his shoulders and still strives to make himself seem small. Tony can’t stand the idea of anyone feeling like they’re trapped or hunted, so he does his best to distract the scientist with witty remarks and playful jabs. And every once in a while he lets one wing stray, brushing a soft-feathered edge against Bruce’s arm or back. 

Bruce grumbles at him good-naturedly and swats at him on occasion, turning around the next moment and accepting the blueberries Tony keeps on hand as a peace offering. He makes no sudden move or reference to the wing touch, but on one occasion he soothes a hand down the edge of it as Tony withdraws, as though making sure the feathers are straight and flat before Tony folds the wing away. Tony folds his wings to his back with only the faintest lowering of his head, biting the inside of his cheek rather than letting free the noise he wants to make in reaction to the simple gesture. Bruce doesn’t have wings, he can’t know what it means… But Tony knows, and the last person he had touch him like that –without calculation or rage- had been Jarvis.

Even so, it’s been decades, and all his wings have known since then is pain. So if Tony’s shoulders relax and his wings splay a little more and the metal on them gleams a little softer than the previous tension-sharp gestures and bristling, Bruce is kind enough not to say so… And Tony’s calm enough not to upset the curious balance settling between them. And if Tony’s wings stretch out with his gestures or fluff when he shrugs, or brush Bruce when an opportunity presents itself, the scientist doesn’t do anything but smile gently and return it with a gentle touch or a soft laugh. 

They eat and slide monitors or files this way and that, working over each other’s shoulders with only half-spoken thoughts. Tony relaxes further as they work, glad they’re in a S.H.I.E.L.D.’s lab, which means Tony is a little less likely to posture over his beloved projects under someone else’s hands. It seems that Bruce finds the area fairly neutral ground as well, because between a few playful comments and a handful of blueberries, he seems to relax and actually enjoy the chance to play with (nearly) the latest toys. 

Tony’s only half-aware of how his wings draw up and half-unfurl, the arches just over his head and wingtips well above the floor. It frames him in crimson and soft gold, and the gesture is excited and welcoming all at once. He’s just had an absolutely brilliant idea, that’s all that matters. “You should come by Stark Tower sometime… Top ten floors, all R&D. You’d love it, it’s CandyLand!” 

There’s a low sound of amusement from the scientist as a wing-edge suddenly obscures the screen he’s attempting to work on. With a muffled sigh Banner waits for the wing to retract, then gives it a gentle poke to ease it out of his face and away from the screen. Tony’s busy tapping away at his own screen for a moment, fingers twisting and gliding over glass, and doesn’t seem to notice. 

So Bruce gives him a gentle smile and even runs the back of one finger down a flight feather, the gesture absent-minded as he chews on his lower lip and considers a screen. “Thanks but… Uh the last time I was in New York I kind of, broke… Harlem.” 

And Tony can’t even feel hurt by the refusal, because Bruce’s fingers glide to joint in the metal augmentations and carefully check the screw and plate intersection without a word. Finding that they produce smooth movement and cause Tony no pain, Bruce gently scratches the feathered underbelly of the wing and then goes back to typing ruthlessly at the computer. Tony doesn’t say anything about it, but he can’t shake the smile, and his wings stretch and flutter happily for nearly an hour afterwards.

*

After their initial argument on the bridge, Tony isn’t really thinking he’ll be around Steve again. And while his childhood self feels a bolt of regret, he buries it in careless dismissal and sarcastic commentary, in the shift of metal-framed wings and a challenging smirk. It’s much easier to focus on tracking energy patterns and gamma radiation with Bruce than it is to think about his fuck-up with Steve. Easier to be around Bruce, who is not winged, just like most of the S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers… Bruce, who peculiarly seems to think it makes him stand out when he’s faced with his would-be teammates and so he folds like a bad hand of cards, his body-language closed off and wounded.

Tony hates it, and is determined to teach Bruce to stop. 

In spite of the fact that he doesn’t have wings, Bruce seems to understand how to interact with someone who does… Or maybe he’s just picking up on how to interact with Tony as things go. Regardless, his gentle gestures and half-minded ‘health checks’ are endearing. (Yes, Tony is well aware Bruce is scrutinizing the framework for any sign of twist or fatigue, but the scuffle with Loki and Thor hardly ruffled a feather, much less bent a plate.) When all this is over Tony very well may keep him, if the scientist is amenable to the idea. 

After all, Tony has already decided that since they both keep Science as a mistress, Bruce isn’t allowed to think such stupid things as the lack of wings making him unwelcome. He doesn’t care of the other man has wings or not, and he’s not going to let Bruce dwell on such things either. Instead, he works on needling and poking the scientist into a better humor. “Shall we play, doctor?”

“I’m pretty sure you were considered a menace on the playground.” Bruce argues with a grin, idly batting the pencil out of Tony’s hand. “Just get back to work, Tony.”

Tony grabs a pen next, poking him again. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

Bruce drags the pen out of his hand and makes a notation, unable to avoid giving him a surprised look. “Are we here to have fun?”

“Did you miss me getting in a fight with Captain Stars and Stripes?” Tony gives Bruce a look that is all doe-like eyes and wicked smile. “Between that and hacking Fury’s system, give me a puppy to kick and this is a red letter day!”

Bruce purses his lips and gives Tony a very serious look. “That sounds like something a supervillain would say.”

There’s a chance that the peculiar tone in Bruce’s voice is about to become a smile, and Tony takes that as a victory. He’s visibly preening, wings flaring half-open as he replies with a swaggering step forward. “I’m flattered that you barely know me at all, and you’re already aware I’d be more than an ‘ordinary’ villain.” 

There’s an actual smile on Bruce’s face now, seemingly reluctant but there. His tone is all dubious and disapproving, but his eyes glint with suppressed amusement. “I am familiar with some of your exploits, Mr. Stark.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls, Doctor.” Tony croons with a flutter of lashes before eying his phone when it chirps an alert. “Good news, Brucie-Bear! JARVIS is almost done with the firewalls, soon we’ll know every little dirty secret Fury’s trying to hide.” 

“And yet you’re confused as to why Fury doesn’t want you around?” Steve appears soundlessly, watching Tony with a glare. As the billionaire turns to face him, Steve folds his arms across his chest and half-flares his wings, attempting to assert himself in the face of darkly-stubborn eyes and a ridiculous goatee. 

“An intelligence agency that fears intelligence? Historically, _not_ awesome.” Tony lifts his chin and flares his wings as well, the blue-white light of the lab gleaming off of the gold-titanium framework until his wings nearly radiate light. 

Tony can see when Steve notes the trace-work of metal over wings and is willing to bet the Captain (actually, seriously) considers asking what the hell it’s for. But it doesn’t matter, because at the posturing Bruce closes down, eyes dropping back to the computer screens wordlessly. Tony tosses him a concerned look and then grinds his teeth as he turns back to face the soldier. He certainly isn’t inclined to change his tactics now, even if he can hear Pepper’s exasperated tone in his head as she berates him for not trying to mend a few fences. _‘How often do you make a first impression that’s also a last impression?’_

Much to his surprise, it appears they do actually get a chance to ‘meet’ for a second time. With the easy camaraderie Tony had built with Bruce dashed to dust at the Captain’s entrance, this go around is very nearly quiet. Tony takes a minute to acknowledge that at least they’re not surrounded by young and impressionable agents whose morale will be impacted by watching two known heroes fight. Of course, now they’re on what might as well be Tony’s turf, in the middle of a lab that S.H.I.E.L.D. had set up to keep both Tony and Bruce distracted. And Steve has just unraveled all the progress Tony had made with Bruce, simply by walking in the door. Tony’s hardly likely to backtrack now, for all that it would be the wiser choice. 

“We have our orders, we should follow them.” Steve grits out.

Tony shrugs. “Following’s not really my style.”

There’s a bitter little smile on the Captain’s face as his wing half-unfurl, tension broadcasting through the stiff posture and spiked blue-and-steel feathers. “And you’re all about style, aren’t you?”

With a wordless look and a further flare of metal-framed wings (a pity he can’t extend them fully, but there are far too many tables and things he’d wipe out in the process), Tony moves back around the table and prods Bruce with a mildly charged electric rod to see if he can spook a reaction out of the other man. Bruce jumps and grumbles at him, but his look is back to being something between amusement and resignation. _Success._

Steve’s the one who takes real offense. “Hey! Are you nuts?”

Carelessly Tony throws a smirk his way. “Jury’s out.”

Steve’s jaw flexes as tension sings through him and Bruce ducks his head, attempting to avoid eye-contact as Tony spins back to face him with a protective curl of one wing. The billionaire may not even notice how he unfolds it like a curtain, half-hiding Bruce from Steve’s disapproving glare, but Bruce notices. And if the expression in Steve’s eyes is any indication, he understands as well. 

Idly Bruce notes how the billionaire’s abrupt avoidance steals the wind out from under Steve’s wings, and they seem to wilt half-flared as the one he plans to take issue with abruptly discounts his opinion. Bruce is surprised when Steve falls silent instead of snarling at Tony anyway, leaving Tony to continue as he wishes.

“You really have got a lid on it, huh?” Tony wonders as Bruce pretends to be absorbed in a file and tries to ignore the gleam of singular focus in Tony’s dark gaze. “What’s your secret? Mellow Jazz, Bongo drums, huge bag of weed?” 

Steve’s voice is something between exhausted and exasperated. “Is everything a joke to you?”

Tony’s still preening, his reply delivered with a cheeky grin and a flash of dark eyes. “Funny things are.” 

“Threatening the safety of everyone on this thing isn’t funny.” It takes a moment, but Steve seems to understand how that sounds. He gives Bruce a look that borders on apologetic. “No offense Doctor.”

 _Right._ Tony snorts, if it had been him, he wouldn't have let the Captain get away with it. But he's known Bruce for long enough to fully expect how the scientist waves it off. He manages, only barely, to hold his tongue.

“Don’t worry about it, I wouldn’t have come aboard if I couldn’t handle pointy things.”

“I knew you liked it.” Tony leered as Bruce laughed.

Steve visibly swallowed a growl and headed for the door with a sharp turn and tense posture. “Just get back to work.” 

As it slid open to let him escape, he was dimly aware of Tony muttering to the other scientist. “ _That’s_ the guy my dad never shut up about?”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed, this chapter got a bit big and there's still more Helicarrier-related shenanigans to relay... If you're interested, another such chapter may be headed your way! Feel free to drop me a line in the comments.  
> BTW I'm polishing up the first two chapters of a new fic to post in the near future, if anyone's curious. More STONY, possibly WinterHawk. Keep an eye out. ^.^


End file.
